As Hall of Fame day is upon us, I thought it fitting to take a few moments for reflection ... with a poem. You heard me. The following is a monosyllabic poem I wrote for a creative writing course last spring (Go ahead, laugh. But deep down, you know you're just afraid.):
Tainted Rose
Bat meets ball with a thwack
White sphere sails high toward blue sky
Run like the wind, Pete
Fans rise, clap, cheer
As you round first base
Off the wall skips the ball
Don’t stop, you’ll make it to third
Hard comes the throw, fast and low
But you’re safe with a dive
Stand up, dust off, wave to the crowd
They love you still, Pete
How can they not?
You are a god to them
Lord Rose, the Hit King
On your way to the Hall
Just tell the truth, Pete
You had time to kill
You had cash to spend
One bet will do no harm
But then it’s two, three, four, more
You’re weak, you can’t stop
Now the game and your fame
Have been shamed, Lord Rose
Run, while the ball is still in the air
Tip of the Cup. Just as the play-by-play man finished spouting " ... a big, fat goose egg with the bases loaded this year," Philadelphia's Jimmy Rollins turned on a Jason Motte fastball to hit his second career grand slam and lead the Phillies to a rout of St. Louis. An abbreviated tip to the Tampa Bay Rays for their comeback from an eight-run deficit to beat Toronto. (Those of you wondering why Washington's Adam Dunn gets no tip for his slam against San Diego, I have two words: Nobody cares.)
Deja Vu BS. Four of eight save situations were blown Saturday, two coming from familiar AL culprits: Scott Downs, Blue Jays (3); Bobby Jenks, White Sox (4); Jason Motte, Phillies (3); Kiko Calero, Marlins (1).
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